


A Hard Road to Travel

by waltwhitmans



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: M/M, indulgent liberal fantasy: part two, otp: wait that's my word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-14 22:28:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21023246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltwhitmans/pseuds/waltwhitmans
Summary: Milwaukee, 2020. The nomination is a hard road to travel.





	A Hard Road to Travel

**Author's Note:**

> Boy, Pete did great at the debate, didn't he?

"It's _hot_," Chasten said, tugging at his shirt. If he was caught on camera with visible sweat stains he would never live it down. The only person who could pull it off was Beto O'Rourke, and he was from Texas. "How are you not feeling it?"

"I did live in Afghanistan for seven months," Pete said. His white shirt was as fresh and crisp as it was when he took it off the hanger. It was eerie. "That's heat."

"Dry heat. Where are we headed?"

"The interfaith gathering," Emily said. She was a few feet ahead of them, rolling her chair with one hand and looking at her phone with the other. "Goes until four, then there's a gaggle. Chris and Nina will be there to run interference, and Lis is with the reporter from Politico. After that there's dinner with Stacey, and after that you have the night to yourselves. Both speeches are in the bag and we won't have to do any press until tomorrow."

Chasten was excited for the convention to start but he didn't love the idea that this was in the bag already. The convention was just starting, they had three full days to get through, there were two other candidates on the ballot, anything could happen. He just wouldn't feel at ease until it was over. 

They were walking from the parking garage beside the arena into its beating heart. The interfaith ceremony was only the beginning. Three days from then, it was almost certain Pete was going to leave the nominee. At that moment, without looking away from what was in front of him, Chasten reached over and took Pete's hand. He was making a speech on the third night of the convention, he was married to the presumptive nominee, and he needed something solid to hold. 

Chasten had always believed in Pete, even before they started out in a tiny office with four employees, but he couldn't honestly say he was prepared for  _ this _ . How could anyone be ready for their spouse to be president? Sometimes he felt bad for asking himself the question. He'd known that this was a possibility, long before it became a probability. Backstage at the Studebaker factory, watching Pete's speech scroll by and seeing Pete at the podium, hearing thousands of people cheering and chanting his name, one thought chased its tail around his mind.  _ They don't deserve you, they love you but they don't deserve you, you're going to be president, oh Peter, oh my love. _

Before Pete went on stage Chasten was at his side, holding his hand, touching his back or his shoulder, keeping close. Pete showed him the woven palm frond he'd gotten from a little girl at church that morning. He was so nervous you could see it radiating off him. They watched the speakers introducing Pete, his fellow mayors and Mrs. Chismar, and when Steve Adler said his name and "High Hopes" started to play Chasten watched Peter make the long walk to the stage, to the most important moment of his life. 

When it was time Chasten squared his shoulders and went on stage. He'd never seen a look like that on Peter's face before - so relieved. "I'm so proud of you," he said, and he meant it, but he didn't say the next thing on his mind:  _ I hope we're prepared for this _ . 

\-- 

The interfaith gathering went a little longer than expected, so the gaggle started late, which meant that five minutes before Pete and Chasten were expected at dinner they were still in the hotel room getting ready. "No need to rush," Pete said, adjusting his tie. "She's not going to walk out."

"You're sounding pretty cavalier for a guy who's about to meet face to face with his choice for Vice President for the first time since they announced their partnership." Chasten finished futzing with his cuffs, and straightened Pete's tie to fit his standards. "Lis is going to be here any second." 

As if on cue, there were two short raps on the door before it opened. "Please tell me you're ready," she said. 

"We're ready." 

"Good. I was prepared to drag you down there half-dressed. Let's go."

They rode the elevator down in silence. Lis was texting so fast her thumbs were a blur. They got out on the ground floor; Lis led them into the crowded restaurant and straight through into the kitchen, weaving past stovetops on fire and chefs yelling orders, to the very back of the kitchen where, at a table set for three, Stacey Abrams was sitting. "It's good to see you again, Pete," she said, standing up and shaking Pete's hand, and then Chasten's. "You too, Chasten."

"Likewise," Chasten said. 

"I thought things like this only happened in Mafia movies," Pete said. 

"Get used to it," Lis said. Her phone began to buzz. "Call me when you're done."

Once Lis had left, the three of them sat down. "Before either of you say anything," Stacey said. "We all know why we're here. We're all perfectly aware of what could happen over the next few days. I'm sure there are other candidates in other hotel kitchens having this same conversation right now. So instead of getting into the nitty gritty right away, why don't we have dinner first and talk about anything but politics?"

"That's the best idea I've heard all day," Pete replied. He sounded more than a little relieved. "What do you think, Chasten?"

"Agreed."

Over dinner, the three of them talked about tabletop games,  _ The Good Place _ (Pete and Chasten's recent Netflix binge), Harvard vs. Yale, and  _ Star Trek _ . The last thing Pete needed was a vice president that wasn't on the same wavelength, both personally and politically. Just from conversation over dinner it was obvious that Stacey was absolutely connecting with Pete, and he was connecting with her. Pete had agonized over his choice for VP for weeks, and the committee had to drag him back from the edge more than once. It was obvious to Chasten that Stacey was the best and only choice. If this was how a game-changing political alliance was formed, while discussing Captains Kirk and Picard, then so be it. Just another trail to blaze. 

The waiter cleared their plates and brought coffee. "So," Pete said. "If I may - we all know why we're here."

"We do," Stacey said. "And we know that nothing is set in stone. We know that it's not over until it's over. There's still a lot of work to be done here. But there is still plenty to celebrate, Pete." 

"I know," Pete said. He clasped his hands on the table. "I've been the presumptive nominee since June and, barring any extraordinary change, I'll be officially nominated on Wednesday night, and so will you. This last stretch is going to be ten times as hard as what came before. I need to know that you're with us all the way. We can't give them any quarter, any reason to suspect that we're not completely together on every issue."

"You can count on me," Stacey said. "I'm not about to let this one get away from us. Not if I can help it." 

Chasten watched Pete's shoulders relax. He felt himself untense, hadn't realized how rigid he'd gotten. Stacey didn't seem the least bit anxious. "To democracy, long may she reign," she said, holding up her cup. "And the Democratic party which we are so proud to be a part of."

They toasted and had their coffee, briefly discussed plans for after the convention. Stacey excused herself first, to go to a meeting with her writers to work on her speech. "I'm speaking tomorrow night," she said. "Just a few more tweaks."

"Ours are done already," Chasten said. 

"I knew you were both overachievers."

They said goodnight. Pete called Lis to let her know how it went. Chasten could hear her cursing a blue streak out of pure joy. She would leak this news in the morning and watch the mediasphere fall over itself to blow it up. Pete hung up the phone. "Well, we're free for the night," he said. "You want to go back to the room and watch more  _ Good Place _ ?"

"You better forking believe it." 

\--

Chasten woke up the next morning in what he estimated to be the millionth hotel room he'd seen since the campaign began. He found his phone in the sheets and checked the time: 6:47 AM. His Twitter mentions were exploding more than usual and the Instagram notifications were almost as much. He opened Twitter first and saw tweet after tweet, from the Times and the Post to the 4Pete accounts, all saying the same thing: Pete Buttigieg met with Stacey Abrams last night, very hush-hush. Anything to drum up interest in the presumptive nominee and his vice president. 

Pete wasn't next to him. Chasten rolled over and saw Pete at the sink, half-dressed, brushing his teeth. "Lis must be in heaven," he said. 

"I should send her flowers. Or throw a parade." Pete spat, rinsed his mouth. "What time is it?"

"Not quite seven. I don't remember what we're doing today."

"Breakfast with senior staff, daily briefing with security, then you're on the floor talking to people and I'm speaking to the interest groups until the speeches start at seven." 

"Who's speaking tonight?"

"Ilhan Omar, Kyrsten Sinema, Heidi Heitkamp, Keith Ellison, Steve Adler. I think that's all of them. Stacey is the keynote tonight."

"Hell of a variety." Chasten yawned. "Okay. I'm getting up. I have to get up."

"Your suit is hanging in the closet."

"Love you, babe." 

Lis was, indeed, over the moon. She was vibrating with excess energy. "We are going to ride this all the way to the vote on Wednesday," sloshing coffee over the side of her cup. "We don't even need to do anything else! The media is doing all my work for me!"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Pete said. 

"Why not?"

"Delegates still do have to vote," Mike added. "Literally anything can happen in two days."

"Pete Buttigieg and Stacey Abrams," Lis said, cheerfully ignoring Mike. "Hell of a ticket." 

The briefing with the security team was never the same two days in a row. The bespoke protests, with the costumes and Bible passages shouted through a microphone, were in the past. Usually there was a group of malcontents with signs somewhere in the vicinity. Occasionally there was more serious trouble. Today there were four new people, all wearing dark suits and earpieces, in the conference room. "Meet Agents Prescott, Nichols, Bradford, and Santos," said Vic, the head of security. "Before I introduce them I do want to get this out of the way, as an explanation. Early this morning a man was apprehended attempting to get into the hotel. He told the arresting officers that he wanted to find Pete and threaten him in order to make him drop out."

"Threaten him how?" Chasten asked. He always asked because he thought he needed to know, but the answers made him want to crawl into a hole. 

Pete put his hand on Chasten's arm. "You don't -"

"No, I want to hear this." 

"He had a knife on him." Vic cleared his throat. "We've decided, since Pete is the presumptive nominee and will likely be chosen as the nominee, it's time to bring in the Secret Service for protection." 

"Already?" Pete said. 

"Needs must, in this situation. It was only a matter of time before they were going to come in anyway." 

"I have one question," Chasten said, turning to the agents. "Did you pick our nicknames yet?"

"We're testing a few options," Agent Prescott said. "How do you feel about Steward and Scholar?"

"I like it. We can keep her." 

They split up, Pete going to his meetings and Chasten walking the floor; Pete got Bradford and Santos, Chasten got Prescott and Nichols. It was just more campaigning, really. Chasten was good at talking to people, connecting with them. He was in familiar territory, too. The agents walked a few steps behind him as he shook hands and introduced himself. Even when people said they were there supporting a different candidate, or a delegate pledged to someone else, he didn't mind. When Pete was the nominee, they would still have to campaign. Can't let the muscles atrophy.

Campaigning ran the gamut between the sacred and profane, the ridiculous and the sublime. There were too many instances of a child crying because they were scared of being killed at school, or deported to a country they'd never been to, or losing their home to a flood from climate change. People old enough to be their parents came to them with tears in their eyes, to say that they never could have dreamed of an openly gay man running for president, much less edging closer and closer to the nomination. But for every emotional moment, there was something light. Pete lit up every time someone let him hold their baby. Dogs wearing Pete for America collars and bandanas came to rallies. One night in Nashville, at a fundraiser held at the home of a music producer, Chasten had let Pete leave his sight for five minutes, and when he caught up Pete was sitting with two singers and the producer, plucking an autoharp and singing "Wabash Cannonball" along with them. "Since when can you play the autoharp?" Chasten asked later.

"I can't," Pete said. "I just strummed and faked it. They're bundlers and they delivered big time. And it's already on Twitter."

"And where did you pick up 'Wabash Cannonball'?"

"In college." 

Teenagers were taking pictures of him at Target. People on Twitter suddenly cared about what their dogs were doing. There were interviews on news networks, fundraisers and rallies, people who shook their hands and thanked them for what they were doing. There were evangelists castigating Pete for being gay, protesters performing bizarre tableaus, and a few more reasons every day to never read the comments. There was a mother in Iowa who cried as she told Chasten that he and Pete had saved her daughter's life, just by being there. It was a lot of responsibility to take. But it meant so much. 

There was something special about the campaign, seeing people respond to Pete, figuring out how to pronounce his name and falling in love with him. It was obvious even in the first few weeks, in Iowa. They saw a lot of living rooms, brewpubs, VFW halls. People crammed into these rooms to see Pete, and it was encouraging, even though Iowa was crawling with candidates. Chasten usually hung out on the edge of the crowd, by the door or on a staircase. He got Pete all to himself at night so he didn't mind. Pete usually pointed him out anyway. "You're not free if the county clerk says you can't marry the person you love because of their idea of their political beliefs," he would say, and he'd look up, expression softening just a little bit. "The person I love is right over there."

People clapped, every time. Chasten wasn't used to it then and honestly couldn't say he was entirely used to it now. Living out of suitcases, in and out of hotels, wasn't something he was used to either, but this time it wasn't so bad. When Pete ran for DNC chair that was an eight-week sprint around the country. Most mornings they would wake up somewhere and neither of them could remember where they were. At least before the primaries they were mostly in Iowa, or New Hampshire, or South Carolina, so it could only be one of a few choices. And they could go home for a day or two every week to maintain their lives in South Bend. There were more people with them, too: Mike overseeing every move of the campaign, Lis with her spike heels and truly awesome way of working  _ fuck _ into every sentence, Nina keeping everyone and everything on the message, Emily and her indefatigable way of getting everyone where they need to go, Saralena to keep everything running as smoothly as possible. It could be worse. But it could be better. He knew that being married to a politician came with certain requirements: traveling, public appearances, being the supportive spouse - and he was. This was just on a different level. These people didn't know them like the people of South Bend. They were strangers in an incredibly strange land.

Between days in Iowa and New Hampshire they went to Austin for Pete's first CNN town hall at South by Southwest. As soon as he jumped off the stage for a kiss Chasten could feel that something was different. The mayor of South Bend, Indiana was just on national television as a presidential candidate and he knocked it out of the park. How many people saw it on CNN? How many watched it later on Twitter and YouTube? That was when it all started to happen. That was when everything changed.

Chasten didn't catch up with Pete until the speeches began that evening. It was a little thrilling to hear Prescott and Nichols talking into their sleeves, saying things like "Scholar is on the move to the second level of seats" and "I've got eyes on Steward, he's on your three." They sat in the upper level, a few hundred feet away from the stage and near a screen. Pete had a program. "Tom Perez is giving the call to order," he said. "Tonight's theme is 'Renewing America's Promise'."

"Promise of what?" Chasten asked. If Pete had been elected chair of the DNC three years earlier they wouldn't be sitting there. Pete would be giving the call to order at the convention to nominate someone else. 

"Well, in my view, the promise of freedom, democracy, and security for all Americans." 

"You don't need to campaign to me, Peter."

"Sorry. It's a reflex." 

Heidi Heitkamp was up first, to speak about the American heartland. Kyrsten Sinema spoke on the importance of protecting the rights of the LGBTQ community, Ilhan Omar on the immigrant experience, Keith Ellison on working against discrimination. Pete was laser-focused on the speeches. Chasten couldn't stop himself from looking around: at the crowd, the cameras, the Secret Service agents. Four years earlier they'd been at the convention in Philadelphia, when it seemed inevitable that Clinton would be the next president. Nothing had been inevitable since the election. 

Steve Adler was the last speaker before Stacey. He'd been in their corner for over a year. His speech was about the power of the executive office. "An executive doesn't run and hide when things get tough," he said. He was better than he'd been at the campaign launch. "An executive is willing to walk toward the firing squad without a blindfold or a cigarette. An executive must live with the decisions that they make and they become a better person for them. America needs a president who understands the power and the privilege of the executive office. I stand before you to tell you that America needs Pete Buttigieg." 

Applause so loud Chasten could feel it in his chest. Signs that said PETE 2020 and WIN THE ERA waving on the floor of the arena. The energy was electric. For a split second there was zero doubt in Chasten's mind that Pete was going to be the nominee.

Stacey was introduced by her sister. After the thunderous applause died down she began her speech, about the power of the vote and the duty of Americans to exercise that power. "To vote is to have a voice, to make what you believe in known. To vote is to recognize the enormous sacrifices made by our foremothers and forefathers, who fought and bled and died so we could enjoy this right. To vote is to believe in change on the smallest level, that it affects the highest plane. When we vote, we are saying, 'I am an American and I will not stand for this.' We say, 'I will use my voice to fight for what I believe in.' Frederick Douglass said, 'We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake. The feeling of the nation must be quickened; the conscience of the nation must be roused; the propriety of the nation must be startled; the hypocrisy of the nation must be exposed; and its crimes against God and man must be denounced.' Voting is the absolute power, it is the wielding of truth, and it is essential to our existence as free citizens of the United States of America. As your Vice President I will continue the work I've pledged my life to, to ensure that all Americans enjoy the right to vote in free and fair elections." 

"God, she's good," Pete said, resting his chin in his hand. "How did no else get her before we did?"

"Maybe she didn't want anyone else to get her." 

Pete's phone pinged. He checked the text. "It's Lis. We're needed backstage right now."

Flanked by the Secret Service agents, they made it from their seats to backstage faster than Chasten thought possible. They got there as Stacey was walking off. "Great job," Pete said, shaking her hand. "You blew the doors off this place."

Chasten noticed the cameras and phones. Lis knew an opportunity when she saw it. "I expect nothing less from you on Thursday night," Stacey replied. 

Pete walked through the backstage holding area and the green rooms, shaking hands and congratulating the speakers. By dawn the next morning all the footage would be condensed into a two minute video and be posted on all the social media platforms. He got a selfie with Steve and took pictures with the stage crew and the craft services team, spoke to reporters and on-camera journalists about the speeches and what he anticipated for the rest of the convention. Pete was, as always, unflappable, and very glad to spread his message. 

They didn't get back to the room until nearly midnight. Two new agents, Holmes and Reed, were posted outside the door, just in case. It was too late for an episode of  _ The Good Place _ , so they just went to bed. In the dark, Chasten wondered if there were any more men with knives out there. It would have frightened him, but he was so tired, he fell asleep quickly. 

\-- 

Chasten woke up early on Wednesday. It was his busiest day at the convention: breakfast with the Victory Fund, speaking to the group from GLAAD, the HRC luncheon, meeting with the AFT and the ACLU. That evening the delegates were voting on the nomination; there was nearly no scenario that didn't end with Pete being nominated. Still, Chasten was glad to be busy until then. It would keep his mind off the vote. 

He had Emily and Nina with him for the day, along with Agents Prescott and Nichols. Pete was already gone by the time he got up; he was meeting with staff before going to his own speaking engagements and interviews. They wouldn't see each other until the evening program began. Speaking that night were Dick Durbin, Brian Schatz, Chris Murphy, Ayanna Presley, and Cory Booker. Chasten would make his speech. The delegates would vote. Let the chips fall where they may. 

Talking to people in smaller settings was Chasten's favorite way of communicating. It was a lot like being back in the classroom, being able to connect on a more personal level. If this was any other day on the campaign trail he would have enjoyed it. He ping-ponged from one conference room to another all day, forcing himself to focus only on what was directly in front of him. He had remarks printed out so he wouldn't be tempted to look at his phone or tablet for anything. As an extra precaution he gave both to Emily and told her not to give them back until he was with Pete. In every meeting he made himself come across as calm and unruffled; thank God for his years in theater. It didn't hurt that he was talking about his favorite person and that he believed in what he was doing, all in front of friendly audiences. He couldn't keep himself from looking at his watch, though. Not even the stink eye from Emily could stop him.

The evening program began at seven. At ten of Chasten was in the green room, sitting on the plush couch, going over his speech one last time. There was food but he was too nervous to eat. The theme for the night was "Liberty and Justice for All." "Twenty minutes," Emily said. "Twenty minutes for your speech, and then you're released."

"Twenty minutes and then the vote," Chasten said. "Which will make Peter the nominee."

"I don't know." The door opened and Pete stepped in. "Everyone could just decide not to vote and go home."

"We live in the dumbest timeline. I can actually see that happening." Emily locked her phone. "Take a minute and then come find me backstage."

When the door was closed Pete sat down next to Chasten. "Are you nervous?"

"Oh, you know," Chasten said. "It's just that two years ago I was a teacher who had never spoken to a group larger than a classroom and now I'm less than two hours away from making a speech at the Democratic National Convention because my husband is going to be the nominee for President of the United States."

"Don't think about it like you're talking to thousands of people on live television," Pete said. "Just think about it like you're only talking to me."

"I don't need to sell you to you." 

"Imagine that you're practicing your speech in the living room in front of me and Truman and Buddy." Pete adjusted the knot of Chasten's tie, straightened the flag pin on his lapel. "I'll be watching. I'll hear every word." 

"Where are you watching?"

"Right off the stage. I'll be fifty feet away. You'll be able to feel my eyes on you. Hey." Pete leaned in to touch his forehead against Chasten's. "You're amazing. I love you more than anyone else in the world and I have no doubt in my mind that you're going to get the audience standing from their socks."

"Oh, babe, you know quoting the West Wing gets me going." 

"There are too many people around." Pete quickly pecked Chasten on the lips. "Show's starting." 

They watched the speeches from the side of the stage where staff, family, and the Secret Service were huddled. Mike heard from Stacey; she was in the audience, after a day of her own speaking engagements and last minute campaigning. "She says you'll be great and she'll talk to you later," he said. 

"Tell her thanks, and if I'm half as good as she was last night then I'll be lucky," Chasten said. 

It felt like the speeches were both too fast and crawling by. Chasten wanted to make his speech and he wanted it to be over, so the delegates would vote and they would know once and for all. Durbin, Murphy, and Schatz made their speeches; Durbin endorsed Pete right before Iowa, and if it wasn't the only thing that delivered the first place finish, it definitely helped. Ayanna Pressley spoke on ending police brutality, Cory Booker on putting a stop to gun violence. "As the mayor of Newark I faced these agonizing situations far too often," Booker said. "I have dedicated my life to eradicating the epidemic of deaths by gun violence in America. The next president should not only recognize the gravity of the problem but have experience with it - personal, on the ground experience. Our next president will have that vital experience because our next president will be Pete Buttigieg."

Applause. "Did you know he was going to do that?" Chasten asked.

"No idea," Pete said. 

Out of the corner of his eye Chasten saw Lis quirk her mouth into a tight little smile. 

Chasten was introduced by Doug Emhoff, one of the few people who really understood the life and challenges of a spouse on the trail. He'd kind of hoped that Pete would choose Kamala to be his vice president, just so he could hang out with Doug more, but she was more suited for Attorney General anyway. "No one starts a journey like this prepared, and there's no way to know what will come your way. I've become friends with Chasten because of our unique experiences and I can say, without a shadow of a doubt, that he is one of the kindest, most gracious, most generous hearted people I've ever known."

Pete turned, put both hands on the sides of Chasten's face and kissed him hard. "Break a leg, my love." 

"In that spirit," Doug said, "I am honored to introduce the future First Gentleman, Chasten Buttigieg!"

Chasten walked onstage to "Cut to the Feeling," lips still tingling. He shook Doug's hand, thanked him for the introduction, faced the crowd. He felt suddenly serene. "Good evening," he said. "My name is Chasten and I'm here to tell you about my husband." 

It all came very naturally after that. As he was making his speech Chasten felt like he was watching himself from the wings: the way he stood holding the sides of the podium, how he made eye contact with people in the front, the way he smiled when he said Pete's name. When a line landed people waved signs on long poles with his name on them. It was true, what Pete said: he really could feel Pete watching him, fifty feet away. Around him Lis was probably working her magic, Mike was planning the next six months, the Secret Service was keeping an eye open for trouble, but Pete was the fixed point in the turning world. Nobody, not God or Lis or the Secret Service, could have moved him from that spot. 

Chasten was surprised when he came to the last paragraph. It didn't feel like anything close to twenty minutes. People were chanting his name. "In this moment, we are on the precipice of something truly astonishing. Tonight, the son of an immigrant, a man who rose from obscurity, the millennial Midwestern mayor, will be nominated as your next president. I am so incredibly proud to stand with my husband at this moment and every day of my life. When we stand together no force, no matter how powerful or threatening, can defeat us. Pete brought South Bend from the depths of despair to the heights of hope, and he will do the same when he is president. We are committed to making the changes and the sacrifices to make the future of America brighter than we can dream of. Tonight, let us all come together and pledge to do the work. Tonight, let us pledge to elect Pete Buttigieg the next President of the United States."

He was played off the stage with "Move On Up." He went straight to Pete, who met him with open arms. "You're amazing," Pete said, holding Chasten tightly, one hand on the small of his back and the other on the back of his neck. Behind him Chasten heard the sound of shutters clicking. "You were perfect." 

"The night's not over yet."

"I couldn't ask for a better cheerleader." 

They went back to the green room as Tom Perez and the secretary of the DNC came on stage and began the vote. Chasten drank an entire bottle of water as the roll call progressed. In almost every state and territory, the majority of the votes went to Pete. Nina was keeping a running count on a whiteboard. Saralena and Emily were tweeting furiously from Pete and Chasten's accounts. Chasten looked at his phone. On Pete's Twitter two new posts were blowing up. The first was of Pete from the back, watching Chasten make his speech, captioned "All eyes on @Chas10Buttigieg as he makes his speech at the #DNC." The second was a picture of him embracing Chasten offstage after his speech. The expression on Pete's face was one of pure love and gratitude. The caption was, simply, "Chasten, my love." 

"Whatever happens," Chasten said. "I don't regret one second."

"I know," Pete said. 

The secretary went down the list of states. Indiana cast all their votes for Pete; so did Michigan. Hometown advantage, maybe. Or maybe it was a sign. "We're closing in on a majority," Mike said, after New Jersey gave Pete all but twelve of their votes. "We have to start the next phase of the campaign. Another fundraising push, debate prep -"

"Can you enjoy this for five minutes?" Lis asked. If she were standing any closer she would have whacked him upside the head. 

After Ohio cast 143 votes for Pete a spontaneous chant of  _ Boot-Edge-Edge, Boot-Edge-Edge _ began. It was clear. Every vote that went to Pete increased his margin of victory. By the time Virginia cast their votes, Mike's phone was ringing with calls from the staff of the other campaigns. Stacey was nominated by acclamation. Lis sent Saralena to the floor to record the moment when the secretary called "All those in favor say aye," and the roar of the crowd yelling "Aye!" as one. The ayes had it. Pete was the nominee. "Let's go," Lis said.

They got to the stage as "Hold On, I'm Coming" started playing. Pete took Chasten's hand and they walked onto the stage to greet the delegates, the assembled Democrats, and Stacey. Over the noise of the crowd and the music, Pete said into Chasten's ear, "We made it." 

The pictures of Pete and Stacey together were going to be everywhere the next day. Between the press, thanking supporters, and planning for the next day and far beyond, they didn't get back to the hotel room until after midnight. As soon as Pete closed the door Chasten backed him up against it and kissed him so hard he lost his breath for a second. "Good night, huh?" Pete said. 

"I kissed you so hard I think I just saw your future."

"Oh?" Pete raised his eyebrow. "What did you see?" 

"I saw," Chasten said, putting both hands on Pete's shoulders and steering him towards the middle of the room, gently pushing him onto the bed, making him lie down, "the next president accepting the nomination from his party, making a beautiful speech, and kissing his husband on national television." 

"Did you see anything else? Anything more immediate?" 

Chasten climbed onto the bed and knelt over Pete, undid his tie and began unbuttoning his shirt. "I saw the next president getting undressed and fucking his husband into the mattress." 

"Is that right?"

"Oh, yeah. I've got a sixth sense about these things." 

Pete lunged forward, grabbed Chasten by the shoulders, and rolled him onto his back. "I guess I better trust your instincts," he said, going for Chasten's belt. 

Phones were turned off. The "do not disturb" placard went on the doorknob. It was kind of exciting trying to stay quiet so Santos and Prescott outside wouldn't hear anything. Chasten reached behind him to hold the headboard and sucked his lip into his mouth; Pete bit down on his finger as he came. This was a release they both needed. 

"So, Mister Nominee," Chasten said, once they had caught their breath. "Are you nervous about tomorrow night?"

"No, not at all," Pete said. 

"No?"

"No. Because when I go on stage tomorrow night to make my acceptance speech I know you'll be watching." 

Chasten turned out the light. The last day of the convention would begin soon.

\--

Day four began with a pleasant surprise. Chasten came out of the shower and heard Pete talking to someone. He stuck his head out of the bathroom door and saw Pete signing something. There was a covered tray on a cart next to him. "Room service?"

"I thought we earned it," Pete said, shutting the door. "Breakfast alone." 

It felt almost like any other day on the trail - when they were together, if they could get an hour alone. They didn't turn on the TV or check their phones. Pete must have put the word out that he didn't want any interruptions. "So what do you think," Chasten said, stirring his coffee. "Balloons or confetti tonight?"

"Why not both? Really go all out." 

"Lis is probably counting the seconds until you show up for speech prep."

"Let her count." 

The theme for the last night of the convention was "A New American Spring." Speaking before Pete were Madeleine Albright, Tammy Duckworth, Sharice Davids, and John Lewis. Pete would be introduced by Howard Dean. In twelve hours Pete was going to accept the nomination by the Democratic party for President of the United States. He deserved all the quiet he needed, and it wasn't like he was going to get a whole lot any time soon. 

Chasten spent the day the same way he spent Tuesday: trailed by Prescott and Nichols, walking the floor of the convention, listening to the speakers and talking to supporters. Today there were a lot more requests for selfies, more hugs, more tears. Pete was sequestered with staff for one last dry run of his speech. Already the news anchors and talking heads were speculating. Chasten was under strict orders not to speak to any of them unless accompanied by Lis or Nina, and the agents helped him avoid them. 

At ten of seven Chasten was back in the green room. Pete was in front of the mirror attempting to put on his tie but, after several tries, said the knot didn't look right. "Here," Chasten said, holding out his hand. "Let me." 

Chasten stood behind Pete and began knotting the tie. Lis jumped up from the couch, opened the camera on her phone. "This is too good to pass up," she said, snapping photos. "Right there. Perfect."

"I want to write the caption," Chasten said. 

"Fine."

"Caption it... 'You're ready, Pete. You've been ready. You'll always be ready to face any challenge and you'll always  make me proud to be your husband."

"Sap," Lis said, but wrote it down. When she had walked away Chasten wrapped his arms around Pete's waist and rested his chin on Pete's shoulder. "You're going to blow everybody out of the water." 

"As long as you believe in me," Pete said, "I can do anything."

"Gross," Lis called, from the other side of the room. 

At exactly seven, Chasten kissed Pete one last time and left the green room to take his seat in the audience. He found his parents and Pete's mom, hugged them, told them that it was going to be better than they could imagine. He sat next to Stacey, ignoring the cameras pointed their way. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Like I'm going to start crying at any moment."

She patted him on the arm. "I really liked the picture of you knotting his tie."

"I'm just - every time I think I can't get more proud, I do."

Pete was scheduled to take the stage at eight-thirty. Madeleine Albright spoke on the importance of diplomacy; Tammy Duckworth on the needs of veterans; Sharice Davids on rights for Native Americans. Twitter was flooding with support for Pete, and they loved the picture. John Lewis received a standing ovation before he spoke on protecting civil rights for all Americans. Chasten took a quick look at the CNN livestream on his phone. "I don't think anyone could have imagined this," Martha Raddatz was saying. "Nineteen months ago no one knew who he was, and now he is poised to accept the nomination from the Democratic party, the first openly gay nominee for president in a major party. Who could have foreseen this?"

_ I did _ , Chasten thought. 

Howard Dean had been a friend and mentor since Pete ran for DNC chair, and an advisor to the campaign since the exploratory phase. He took the stage with a smile. "Three years ago, a young man with a name no one could pronounce ran for chair of the Democratic National Committee. He didn't win that race, and we should all be glad that he didn't. Three years ago, Pete Buttigieg was not elected, but tonight he will accept our nomination to be President of the United States of America. His journey from then to now has taken him all across this nation, speaking to Americans about their fears, their hopes, their dreams. He brought a message of generational change, of belief in freedom, security, and democracy. He found Americans tired of division and dirty politics, and inspired them to believe in a new American spring. We see it in young people, voting for the first time, for a candidate who speaks to them and for them. We see it in older voters, who know that age does not mean experience, and want to elect a candidate who can unite Americans. We see it in Democrats, Republicans, and Independents who came together to support a once in a lifetime candidate. We see it in the volunteers who traveled the country to spread the word about the man they truly believed in. Pete Buttigieg is the right candidate for the right moment, and with him leading the way we will win the era!"

The crowd cheered, began to chant:  _ Win the era! Win the era! _ Chasten and Stacey joined along, clapping their hands to the beat. 

After Dean finished his speech, a short film started. It was a biography of Pete, pieced together from old photos and footage. They showed the baby pictures, the photos from Harvard and Oxford and Afghanistan, Pete being sworn in as mayor. Chasten watched his husband's life unfold on a fifty-four screen, all the way through their wedding, the run for DNC chair, the campaign launch, the long road from South Bend to the convention. All that compressed into a five minute movie. 

The screen faded to black, disappeared. The lights came back up, and there was Pete, walking to the podium. He looked so calm, so determined, like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Chasten couldn't hear himself cheering over the din. He stood at the podium and thanked the crowd several times, until the noise began to die down. "Thank you, thank you all so much. Before I begin I would like to thank former Chairman Dean for that introduction; the other candidates who went on this journey with me; the amazing supporters all across the country; our staff and volunteers who embody the values of this project. To our next Vice President, Stacey Abrams, I thank you for your devotion to service and for bringing your years of experience to the table. To my husband Chasten, the love of my life, our future First Gentleman, thank you for giving me the strength to embark on this journey and the grounding to always be myself. To our families, thank you for your unwavering love and support. And to everyone gathered here tonight, thank you for your enthusiasm."

Chasten had heard parts of the speech in the days and weeks leading up to that night, but he'd never heard all of it. Pete spoke about his journey, from a child growing up in a dying city, to a well-traveled young man going home to move into a life of service. He spoke about his years as mayor, how he learned more than he ever could have imagined on the ground in South Bend. He spoke about learning to trust others while he was deployed, putting politics aside outside the wire. He spoke about the leap of faith he made in coming out. He spoke about not just beating Trump but what the world would look like the day after, and how he would lead that new world. It was just like when he began his campaign, on that rainy day fifteen months earlier. "Politics matters because everyday life depends on the decisions made by the people in those big white buildings in Washington. My life, and the lives of all Americans, are changed for the better or for worse because of those decisions. Politics at its worst is ugly. It is cruel. But politics at its best is not simply functional, it is magnificent. Because it is not just about policy. It is soulcraft, and it is moral."

The last time Pete said those words was in a moment of defeat. Now it was in triumph. Agent Reed cleared his throat. "Sir, Ma'am," he said. "We'll be bringing you backstage now."

"How is it almost over?" Chasten asked.

Agent Reed brought them backstage. Mike was watching intently; Lis was on the phone. Chasten could still hear Pete speaking. "We stand for freedom, security, and democracy. The freedom to follow the pursuit of happiness; the security of knowing that the homeland is protected; and the joy of living in a democracy. This is not a time to rely on the old ways of governing, this is a time for bold choices. My name is Pete Buttigieg. They call me Mayor Pete. I am a proud son of South Bend, Indiana. With eyes towards the future, gratitude in my heart, and fire in my belly, I accept your nomination as President of the United States!" 

"Wait," the stage manager said. Chasten peeked from behind the curtain. Pete was standing perfectly still, drawn to his full height. He never looked for the spotlight, never wanted all that attention, but he often found himself in it as he tried to make himself useful. He would rather get down to the work but he'd take the eyes of the world on him if it meant he could do some good. 

"High Hopes" started playing. "Now," the stage manager said, and Chasten pushed the curtain aside and walked into the light and the noise. It all seemed to go away when Pete turned around and their eyes met. He looked so relieved. 

"I'm so proud," Chasten said. "I'm so proud of you. Come here."

On the screens hanging from the ceiling, on the television cameras broadcasting to millions across America, on phones recording on Facebook Live and Periscope and Instagram, the nominee for President of the United States kissed his husband and hugged him tightly. Five years earlier it was unthinkable. Despite the attention of the world it still felt intimate. All Chasten saw was Pete, his blue eyes, his smile. 

Soon the stage was filled: Stacey came out, staff and family followed. Confetti - red, white, and blue - snowed down from the ceiling. People milled around, shaking hands, taking selfies. In the middle of the chaos Chasten held Pete's hand and looked into the crowd. The next day they were back on the trail, traveling separately, grinding away until the first debate at Notre Dame. He wanted to take a moment and savor this, a moment to remember when it felt like the whole world was on their side. 

After what seemed like a long time, they left the stage. Photographers, both from the campaign and from the news media, snapped pictures of Pete with his mother, Chasten with his parents, people being introduced to each other. Chasten got his phone back from Emily. He wanted to say something to convey his gratitude. It came quickly, thinking about the people in the audience. He sent the tweet, put his phone in his pocket. 

Pete didn't look at his phone until they were in the car going back to the hotel. "Thank you for loving him as much as I do," he said, reading the tweet. 

"If anything comes close, it was that crowd," Chasten said. "If anything could."

"I wasn't nervous," Pete said. "I knew you were watching."

Chasten took Pete's hand. "Two months until the first debate. What's next for the Democratic nominee?"

"Well, tomorrow I leave for Florida," Pete said. He looked tired but he was smiling. "But I think tonight I just want to spend some time with my husband."

One last quiet night before the final dash to the finish line. Forget about debate prep and the stump speech and Agent Orange until tomorrow morning. Chasten wasn't scared. They would be ready when it came.

**Author's Note:**

> What do candidates and spouses do before the speeches and confetti at the convention? I don't know. So I made it up. All errors are my own. Artistic license! Mea culpa!
> 
> Title taken from the song "Jordan is a Hard Road to Travel" because the chorus reminded me of Pete: _Oh, pull off your overcoat and roll up your sleeves, Jordan is a hard road to travel._


End file.
